


A Few Inktobertale 2020 Prompts

by Melerific



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, No Smut, Tags Contain Minor Spoilers, agh idk how to tag stuff on here yet ;-;, the chapters will vary in the ammount of fluff vs angst is present
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:53:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26804668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melerific/pseuds/Melerific
Summary: I wrote a small story out of Inktobertale 2020 prompts. I hope y'all like them! :D--Ink uses his vials to feel emotions. The stuff that he fills the vials with is paint- paint that's dropped onto an otherwise empty void by creators. One day, however, the paint stops dropping, and Ink decides to spend his last few moments with emotions with Cross.Or so he thought those were his last moments with emotions.
Relationships: Ink/Cross/Dream, Sans & Sans (Undertale), Sans/Sans/Sans, sans/sans
Comments: 5
Kudos: 35





	1. (Day 6) Help

**Author's Note:**

> Just so y'all know, this is my first ever time uploading something onto ao3. If there's a few tags I should add, let me know!
> 
> Also sorry it's so mediocre. I haven't written anything in forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw, here's the order of the days that I'll be posting each chapter in!
> 
> Day 6: Help  
> Day 8: Wish  
> Day 15: You Called?  
> Day 20: Safe  
> Day 22: Throwback  
> Day 23: Ranting  
> Day 24: Storm  
> Day 25: Addicted  
> Day 27: Burden

It wasn’t subtle. It was something Ink had noticed for a while.

The creators made colors rain down onto a void, letting Ink refill his vials every now and again, which let him feel emotions despite his lack of a soul.

And then, one day, for seemingly no reason, it had stopped.

It didn’t take him long to figure out that the paints had stopped falling from the sky, nor did it take him long to go into an internal panic over it.

Ink knew he shouldn’t fret over it; all that would do is drain his emotions more. But how would you be able to not panic, when fear is something so primal, something that everyone, no matter if you’re soulless or not, can feel? 

He wondered if the creators had given up on him. He wondered how long he had until he had no more emotions left. He wondered if he’d ever be able to feel anything ever again. He wondered. . .

He panicked that the creators had  _ forgotten  _ about him.

There was no way to confirm or deny what he thought during his weeks-long panic. All he could do was wait and watch the paint slowly, slowly trickle out of his vials, into his mouth, and dissipate into feelings.

Ink knew that when his emotions eventually ran dry, he wouldn’t be able to move, think, or speak. He’d be hollow. He’d have no motivation or reason to do anything, and so he’d do nothing. 

He tried to remember all of who his friends were, and he tried to visit all of them before he knew he’d be acting too odd to stick around anymore. He never told them that he may never come back or about his slowly draining vials. He simply came in for a swift visit to one friend, and then left to visit a different one.

And that was it. He did nothing more.

. . .

But there was one last person he couldn’t simply leave alone.

* * *

“Hey.”

Cross turned around, hearing the familiar sound of Ink’s voice. Cross smiled, waving his hand towards his friend, motioning for Ink to sit by him.

Then, Cross paused.

“Ink, are you. . . alright?”

Ink looked over, slowly sitting a foot or two in front of Cross.

“What’s wrong, dude? You don’t. . . You look like you’re upset. Is something wrong?”

Ink meets Cross’s eyes for only a moment, then looks down, placing one of his hands to his forehead, using the other to pull out the mostly empty cyan vial, the only one he has left with anything in it. After several moments of staring at his last vial, he shifts his head so one of his hands is supporting his chin, and the other, the one with the vial, is extended towards his best friend.

“Do you know what this is, Cross?”

Cross stares at what Ink’s holding. “. . . A vial? Why is it labeled “Sadness?””

“I’m soulless, Cross. I can’t feel things on my own. I had a place where I could collect paint that gave me emotions and I’d put that paint in my vials. For whatever reason, several weeks ago, the paint stopped falling. . . I always knew these vials were just a temporary solution. I had no permanent one, and I don’t think I ever will.”

Cross pauses, taking in the new information, staring at Ink for a while. Ink doesn’t make another sound, doesn’t break eye contact, doesn’t move.

“Ink, if you get your emotions from paint. . . couldn’t you go buy some at the store?”

“It’s a different kind of paint. Magical emotion paint- I don’t know how to describe it.”

“Alright, fair enough.” Cross looks away from Ink for a few moments, thinking, before he looks back at him. 

“So, basically, what you’re saying is. . . You’re going to be emotionless for. . .who knows how long, waiting at that place for the paint to arrive again?”

“. . .” Ink looks away.

“Ink?”

“No. I want to stay here with you. I can’t let you be all alone here.”

Cross is silent for several moments, staring at Ink’s face, more expressionless than anyone else’s that he’s ever seen in his life.

“Ink, no. You can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“You have no reason to! That, uhhh, “magical emotion paint” could come back any time now. I know you might care about me, but, like. . . I’m pretty sure emotions are really important, dude. I know you’re worried about me and all, but I’ll be fine.”

Ink and Cross stare at each other. The more seconds that pass, the more anxious Cross gets. Eventually, he stops looking at Ink, waiting for him to respond, to do something.

After what felt like several minutes, Cross sighed. “Ink, are you-”

“Cross,” Ink interrupts.

“. . . Yea?” Cross forgets the question he was about to say as Ink holds out his hand, slowly, gently placing it on Cross’s. He looks up at Cross, trying, trying  _ so hard _ to show how much he cares. 

“I don’t want you to be alone, Cross.”

Cross stares back at Ink, trying to smirk, trying to make the situation feel a little better. “Come on, bud. I’ve got Chara with me. It’s not that bad.”

“. . . Cross, I don’t want to be alone, either.”

That makes Cross pause once again, his smirk disappearing from his face, his eyes open and unavoiding of Ink’s gaze.

Slowly, he squeezes Ink’s hand. 

“I’m scared of being forgotten. I’m scared everyone will forget about me. No one’s going to know me anymore. Everything I’ve done. . . It’d be worthless. . .”

“. . . Ink--” Cross gently rub his thumb over the back of Ink’s hand-- “What if you took me to the place where you get your paints for your emotions, and we waited there together?”

Ink blinks. Suddenly, and quite swiftly, he stands up, taking a small drink out of his last vial, and then using his trusty paintbrush to open an ink-portal to where he gathers the paints for his emotions. Cross stands up, Ink taking his hand again, and they both go through.

Unfortunately for Cross, he, not used to going through Ink’s portals, ends up tripping and hitting his head on the ground right after they pass through.

“Ughh,” Cross groans, rubbing his head. “How do you go through these things without getting hurt?”

Ink quickly glances over to Cross. “I’m sorry!” 

Cross looks over at Ink. “Hey, hey, it’s fi-. . . Hey, don’t cry. I’m alright!”

He stands up, wiping off the tears forming on Ink’s face. “I’m good, dude!”

“I made you hit your head.”

“What? No, dude, that was an accident! I just got dizzy from the-”

“I’m sorry, Cross. You probably hate me. Everyone else hates me, too.”

Cross thinks for a few moments.

He sighs, gently hugging Ink. “No. No, not everyone hates you, Ink. I don’t hate you. I could never.”

“Everyone’s going to forget about me. Everyone’s already forgetting about me. . .”

“I’m never going to forget about you. I never could.”

For Ink, silence follows for several minutes afterwards, only broken by his own uncontrollable sobbing.

Cross, on the other hand, can hear Chara’s yelling, Chara’s anger of him having abandoned their home world- even if the stay here may be temporary. There’s nothing here to take, nothing here to use, they say. They call Cross an idiot. Cross just tries to ignore them, tries to play it off as a rude little kid just being a rude little kid. 

Eventually, Ink pulls away, staring at Cross.

“. . . D-Do you really mean that? Wh- when you say you’d never forget about me?”

“Mhm. . . I never could.”

Ink sighs, holding Cross tighter and hiding his face in Cross’s shoulder. Cross is patient, gently rubbing Ink’s back. “I promise I could never forget about you. I could never hate you,” Cross whispers to Ink, “especially not for things you can’t control.”

* * *

Neither Ink nor Cross had a concept of time, and neither know if it even existed in this place. As such, neither of them knew how much time it took for Ink to drain his last vial, or for Cross to give up on waiting for paint to rain down, or for Ink to slowly lose his last signs of emotion.

Cross couldn’t help but feel utterly helpless. Utterly alone despite having two people right beside him.

He looks to Ink, tears coming into his eyes as he sighs out, “Why. . . why can’t there be a way to help you?”

Ink stares at Cross with his blank, white, nearly emotionless eyes staring directly into Cross’s own. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry there’s no way to help.”


	2. Day 8: Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cross and Chara get into an argument. Cross is upset that Ink can't feel or do anything.

Dull, lifeless and unfollowing eyes forever stared forward. Legs crossed, one hand holding an empty vial that’s slowly, slowly slipping out, the other hand’s palm planted on the floor, supporting the weight. It hurt him, but he felt no reason to move from that predetermined position.

Occasionally, a hand would wave in front of his vision, or oftentimes a full person, blocking his view. He wasn’t bothered, he wasn’t displeased. He was nothing.

Every so often, the other character in the room would reach out for his hand and hold it, staring at it, staring at him. He wasn’t irritated, he wasn’t annoyed. He was nothing.

It’d become more and more frequent that he’d hear the other character talking, whispering, sometimes yelling. He wasn’t distressed, he wasn’t perturbed. He was nothing.

Sitting upright, staring into the void, not processing anything anymore. Not calm, not panicked; not happy, not sad; not angry, not embarrassed. Nothing.

Nothing.

“He’s nothing anymore.”

He’d hear that time and time again. He thought nothing of it, for he couldn’t. 

“Why’d I subject myself to this?!"

He’d hear that, too. It all passed in and then right back out.

“This was stupid.  _ I’m _ stupid.”

He heard dozens of phrases. He  _ heard _ all of them, yet _ listened _ to not a single one of them.

Once again, he felt the other character lean his back against his own, sitting behind him, facing away from him. He knew his name- “Cross”- but didn’t care about it anymore. Cross was just another character with no meaning behind his existence. He wasn’t a friend, he wasn’t an enemy. He was and is a character much like Ink, himself, always will be. 

Cross was mad right now, arguing with the entity he shared a soul with. 

“I get it, I’m a terrible failure of a person for wanting to help out one of my friends!”

A pause as he waits for the entity to finish their sentence.

“Everything you say sounds insane.”

Another moment of quiet.

“Well thanks to the way your logic works, you ended up getting stuck with me!”

Silence for a few seconds.

“I didn’t have any control over myself when that happened. You know that already.”

Silence again, soon broken by Cross abruptly standing up. “You think  _ I _ didn’t want a good life, too? You think everyone else didn’t want to live a good life?”

. . .

“. . . Who the fuck cares if it was a lie? I can’t care anymore. If we made a world ourselves we’d both know everything in it was fake anyways! Who knows how long it would’ve lasted, either! At first I wanted to help you out, but look what you’ve done. Look what you’ve done to me-”

. . .

“You know what?  _ Yea,  _ I don’t trust you. I fucking can’t anymore. You’ve done so much shit to me I just-”

. . .

“I’m _ not _ saying I’m the victim here! Stop shoving words into my mouth-”

. . .

“How the  _ fuck  _ am  _ I  _ acting like a victim here?! If anything it’s  _ you _ who’s acting like a goddamn victim!!”

. . .

“Just  _ shut up!  _ I swear, I wish you’d just shut up forever!”

. . .

“Whatever. Whatever, whatever. I don’t fucking care about you.”

. . .

Cross sighs, slumping down besides Ink. He stares into those eyes, those hurtfully honest eyes, as plain and white as a sheet of paper.

He thinks to himself about drawing with Ink, about hearing Ink rant for hours on end about whatever’s on his mind, about playing with Ink, about laughing with Ink, about Ink discovering his existence.

Cross wishes he could do that again. Cross wishes Ink would come by again. Cross wishes he could laugh and play and enjoy Ink’s company again.

But he knows well some wishes are so far-fetched, they become dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter was so short!!


End file.
